


Stand and Deliver

by AwesomeEyeroll



Series: Stand and Deliver [1]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: AU, Canon Divergence, F/M, multi part story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:12:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeEyeroll/pseuds/AwesomeEyeroll
Summary: Jamie is sent to Paris after his stint in Fort William. There he meets Claire Beauchamp, but very quickly discovers there is more to her than meets the eye.





	1. Chapter 1

Jamie flung his powdered wig across the coach and ran his hand through his hair distractedly. The night had gone on longer than anticipated and as he saw the darkness changing to grey on the horizon for once he was glad of his decision to travel to the soirée by coach instead of my horse. His reason for the coach (and the expense that went with it) was one Annalise de Marrilac. A petite brunette with innocent blue eyes and coquettish way he had fallen head over heels in love with her on sight and had spent the majority of his time in Paris, when not working with his father’s cousin Jared, in the pursuit of her. But if he really thought about it and was honest, he might be tiring of the chase. Whilst Annalise was undoubtedly beautiful and charming, her habit of playing him off against other young men was beginning to wear thin. Just this evening she had spent the night draped all over the visiting duc d’Avignon whilst occasionally throwing come hither glances in Jamie’s direction. The Duke did not seem like the sort to appreciate his imorata getting attention from elsewhere and he couldn't escape the thought that Annalise was trying to goad one or both of them. Annalise had a flair for drama and the idea of having two men dueling over her, well, he could see how she might enjoy that. And truth be told even a few weeks ago he probably would have marched over there and called the Frenchman out. But now … His mind wandered to the woman he had met only last week. She had come from the apothecary with some treatment or other for Jared’s gout. He had been taken aback to discover that like him she was a foreigner here, and Outlander. After so many months in France hearing only French and the occasional mix of English and Gaelic that he and Jared tended to speak to each other, her clipped Englishness seemed almost exotic. But it was not her voice that had captured his attention, but her hair and her eyes. She had a cloud of the most vibrant curly brown hair, all the more beautiful for her lack of care over it. Unlike most of the woman of the time she wore neither hat nor Kerch and nor did she dress it ornately or attempt to hide it beneath the wigs which were increasingly the fashion in Paris. Rather, it was very simply held back in a green ribbon, curls escaping. And her eyes, her eyes reminded him of the big cat he had seen at the King’s private zoo on an occasion he had been invited to Versailles. If he had to assign a colour to them, he would say they were brown, but such a simple descriptor did them no justice. Indeed they were at once brown and gold and yellow. They were both wary and yet spoke of strength and ferocity. Quite simply he had found them mesmerizing to the point where she had politely coughed and asked if he planned to leave her standing on the doorstep all day or if he planned to invite her in. He had seen Her only from a distance since then, when she came again later that week to check on Jared, but Jamie had found her to be increasingly in his thoughts as Annalise spent less time in them. 

He was shaken from his revery by the sudden jolt of the coach coming to an abrupt stop.

‘Stand and deliver, your money or your life!’

With that The coach door was flung open and he found himself face to face with a pistol. He could only dimly make out the figure holding the pistol, dressed all in black with a kerchief tied round their mouth, the rest of the face was in shadow. The figure gestured with the pistol to the purse at his belt. As Jamie was about to speak, the coachman, a long time employee of Jared’s, rounded the coach, heading for the robber. With stunning instincts, the robber swung the pistol, cracking the coachman under the jaw and knocking him out, and in the same motion swinging the pistol back into position and back towards Jamie. A highlander and former soldier himself he had to confess himself impressed both at the economy of the blow and of the fact the assailant had effective taken out the coachman whilst saving the shot with which to menace Jamie. Here was a criminal who knows his business, was the thought that found its way unbidden into Jamie’s mind.   
‘The purse’  
The attacker’s voice was hoarse and muffled by the kerchief. Jamie knowing when he was beat, the robber would have shot him in the head before he could even reach for his dirk, passed the bag. The figure stepped forward slightly to take the purse and was briefly illuminated by the coach’s lamps. Glittering tiger eyes looked out from above the kerchief, a lock of dark curly hair escaping from under the hat. 

The assailant and their two accomplices vanished into the night before Jamie could even properly comprehend what had just happened. Leaping down from the coach he found the coachman beginning to stir, gathering him up he heaped him up ceremoniously into the coach before taking the reins. So the English healer was also the vicious highwayman, feared across the length and breadth of Paris. He laughed out loud and the sound was carried away in wind. He really did have the damndest taste in women.


	2. Chapter II

The room was in uproar and the Sheriff shouted to make himself heard. The now notorious highway gang had hit no less than 5 coaches the previous night. Annalise De Marrilac, who now stood shrieking in a corner, surrounded by admirers offering her water, seats and endless platitudes, was one of them. 

“I have never been more insulted in my entire life” She declaimed loudly, casting her eyes around to see who was not paying attention to her. “My jewels, my beautiful fan, I feared for my life that I had no choice but to hand it all over to them” She burst into noisy sobs whereupon she was once again converged upon my admirers and friends. Jamie lounged against the back wall watching proceedings. He’d lost money in the robbery, probably more than he could reasonably afford to given the amount he’d spent in his attempts to woo Annalise, but the secret knowledge of the identity of the robbery both shocked and intrigued him. He had slept little, trying to work out whether his eyes truly did deceive him or was the Englishwoman, that wee Sassenach, really the assailant who had held him up so boldly and with such efficiency. He had considered briefly turning her into the Sheriff, but then there was always the chance he was wrong, and even if he was not, who would possibly believe him. That a young woman could rob five coaches and single handedly pacify a grown man such as himself and his coach driver. He’d be laughed out of the room. And, if he was being truly honest with himself. He could not see her hang and that would be the only outcome. Despite the revelation that she was, from his own experience, a ruthless criminal, the little flame that he had kindled for her that first time she came to his home to see Jared had not died out. If anything the new knowledge only added more heat to it. He had sensed she was different, but he had had no idea just how different she was. 

He was roused from his thoughts by the Sheriff finally bringing the room to order. There must have been one hundred people crowded into the room, most of them guests from last night’s soiree at Fountainbleu and the creme de la creme of French society. Glancing around Jamie a glimpse of curly hair caught Jamie’s eye.

“Well, I'll be damned” Close to the door stood the English woman herself, reputably dressed in a yellow gown, most unusually for her, a large picture hat atop her head. She was reaching up to remove it when she spied Jamie’s stares. She smiled at him wryly and Jamie averted his eyes feeling the blush rise up from his neck. Glancing back, he could see she was accompanied by the Apothecary, Master Raymond and another gentleman of a similar age. This gentleman, he took to be her uncle, who according to Jared was a collector and hunter of antiquities. Were they all involved he wondered? He glanced at her again and she caught his eye, this time holding his gaze before flicking her fan open and batting her eyelashes at him in a pastiche of what every other woman in the place would consider her height of flirtatiousness before giving him a lascivious wink and looking away hiding her laugh behind her fan.   
“Well I’ll be damned” he said again. 

The meeting broke up having achieved very little save a price on the head of the Highwayman and his accomplices of 500 francs.  
Annalise was escorted out by her father and Jamie could see her trying to attract his attention as she passed. Too late, he thought. Whatever interest he had had in the flighty french woman had entirely evaporated over the space of the last 24 hours. 

“Come, Claire, my dear” a clipped voice in English caught his attention. The man, the uncle was holding his arm out for the Sassenach, Claire to take as they left the room, the apothecary in tow. 

He followed in a daze finding himself on the street unsure as to how he had gotten there. The yell of a coachman as he passed by Jamie brought him back to the moment. He glanced around hoping for a final glimpse of her, but there was none. Turning he set off towards home. 

Jamie achieved nothing of any real value for the next 24 hours. He was supposed to be looking over Jared’s books, something under normal circumstances he excelled at. Today though it was all he could do to stay in his seat and not find a spurious excuse to go to the Apothecary shop, to see if she would be there. Around 3pm, Jared, tired of Jamie’s long deep sighs and general air of nervous energy sent him out on an errand to his Paris warehouse. Arriving home a little after seven he found Jared in the parlour reading over a letter.

“Well Jamie, lad. It appears that we have some new society. Sir Quentin Lambert Beauchamp has just arrived back from the Orient and wishes to introduce his niece into society. She’s been chaperoned by Master Raymond whilst Lamb, as he’s known, was away. A bonnie wee healer she is too.” Jamie suppressed the urge to grin like a fool, at the thought that she was good at a great deal more than just herb lore. Misunderstanding, Jamie’s gleeful expression, Jared raised an eyebrow. “Aye, I imagine that Annalise will also be there, since you have that same gormless look on yer face that you get anytime ye think about her, but lad, ye can do much better than her. Aye, she’s decorative enough, but you’d tire of that very quickly. And ye’ll never be rich enough for her, She’s taken enough wi ye now, and why wouldn’t she be with yer a braw laddie, but leave her to her Dukes, a chariad, ye’ll be the happier for it.” Jamie nodded mutely thinking about how only a few days ago an invitation like this would have filled his head with new ways to woo the french girl, but on this occasion she would not have even entered his head had Jared not brought her up. Instead his thoughts were full of Claire,his mysterious Sassenach who defied almost every convention of how a woman should act and behave and as a result had captivated him utterly. How he might speak with her, maybe even dance a dance or two with her. He imagined her curls piled up, her elegant neck exposed, her creamy skin and tigerlike eyes in the candle light. 

“Oh aye, Jared, I’d say you’re right there. I think there is definitely another lassie out there for me”


	3. Chapter 3

Jamie was not a vain man by nature but he spent more time getting read for the ball being held by Claire’s uncle than he would normally have spent on his appearance. He dressed well, but without deliberation under normal circumstances. But these were not normal circumstances. If he was honest he had, to a certain extent, reinvented himself in Paris. Breeches, wigs, shoes with jewelled buckles. He had made a fine sight around a parlours and ballrooms of Paris and more than one father had made approaches to Jared with a view to securing a match for his daughter. He had enjoyed the attentions and when not otherwise occupied with his pursuit of Annalise de Marrilac had enjoyed many a flirtation. But he had never been him, whilst he could dance and politic over chess tables none of it really interested him and he did not want this to be his life. He couldn't imagine any of these powdered and bejewelled beauties being happy on his estate in the Highlands when the time came for him to become Laird Broch Taurach. Opening a trunk he pulled out his plaid. He hadn’t worn it since his troubles with the English which had resulted in him being packed off to Paris by his father out of harm's way. This made Jamie smile wryly. He was fairly certain becoming infatuated with an antiquarian’s niece who dabbled in healing and held up the coaches of the wealthy of Paris wasn’t quite what his father had in mind. Though, he probably didn’t have Jamie ending up on the Bastille for duelling in mind either and that would have been a distinct possibility had his pursuit of Annalise continued. 

Eschewing wig, powder and shoes, Jamie instead opted to tie his hair back in a simple cue, secured with a green ribbon, he added buckled riding boots and a deep black coat. He was almost surprised at how unfamiliar the figure looking back from the looking glass was. But wanted her to see him. Not Monsieur James Fraser, but him, Jamie. He couldn’t quite identify why it was so important, particularly when he hd no real reason to believe that she would prefer this version of him to the urbane Paris gentleman he had been since his arrival. He suspected it might have something to do with the fact that whether or not she knew it, he did in fact know her. Or at least something about her, something which others didn’t. And he wanted to return that gift to her. 

 

Pulling their horses up outside the grand paris townhouse, Jamie was once forced to reassess what he thought he knew about this mysterious Sassenach. His first impressions had been that she was the ward of the apothecary with whom she had been lodged when he first encountered her. She had been respectably but plainly dressed, clearly having a gentle upbringing but seeing now the splendours of Sir Quentin’s Paris home, he was forced to reassess her once again. A gentlewoman, with an education in the arts of healing, who happened to hold up carriages on the side. She became more intriguing and mysterious with every passing moment.

He was led through the house by an austere looking butler, it seemed that almost all of Paris Society was here, surely, Versailles itself must be empty tonight so many ministers, nobles and social climbers did he finding himself nodding to. And he himself made something of a stir. Set apart from the other men by his plaid and his unadorned, unpowdered head, many turned to stare, many with disapproval but no fewer of both sexes, with keen interest. He straightened up casting his eyes around the room for her, his height less of an advantage than usual amongst the towering wigs of some of the ladies.

Studiously avoiding the hot glances and furiously fluttering fan of Annalise, his eyes finally came to rest on her near the door. Like him she wore no wig nor hair powder, her curls caught up in jewelled pins on top of her head. The emerald green of her gown highlighted the lush creaminess of her skin as it caught the light from the lamps in the room. She was deep in what appeared to be an amusing exchange of wits with the French Minister of Finance and the Marquis of Yve. As if drawn by his scrutiny she turned towards him, her eyes glowed yellow in the light and she batted in eyelashes at his in a knowing pastiche of the popular fashion before returning to her guests. Jamie began to make his way across the room towards her when a voice boomed out.

Sir Quintin Lambert Beauchamp strode to the centre of the room, resplendent is mustard yellow velvet and an ivory powdered wig. Jamie could see little of Claire in him and assumed she must look very like her mother. 

“Welcome, welcome my dears” Sir Quintin clapped his hands together with delight in a most un-Parislike way. “I am so glad so many of you were able to be here for me, for us, as I welcome and introduce my niece, my most valuable and beloved treasure, into Society.”

He drew Claire forward. Claire, for her part played her role to perfection, eyes cast down, fan covering the lower half of her face she glanced up at the assembled thrum of Parisian high society from under the eyelashes. Dropping a deep curtsy, she lowered her fan briefly and smiled. Jamie couldn’t help but smirk. Very few young women would dare to show their teeth like that, so many of them suffered with terrible teeth that it had become de rigueur for most women to remain hidden behind their fans and for all Claire’s coquettish demeanour the act in itself was casually brazen. He heard some chuntering from the cabal of matrons (most of whom he would bet his horse had daughters of marriageable age) behind him which told him the gesture had not gone unnoticed by others either. 

“With the formalities observed” Quintin’s voice brought Jamie’s attention back into the moment, “I bid you dance, make merry and enjoy my hospitality” He bowed with great flourish to applause from his assembled audience and the orchestra struck up. 

Claire danced three or four dances with assorted grandees and men of importance before Jamie acted. As she was being escorted from the floor by one such man, Jamie stepped forward bowing low before.

“My lady. Would you give me the pleasure of this dance?” Claire’s response was to cock her eyebrow at him and hold out her arm for him to take. Taking it gently, he led her to the floor. As they took the floor the music changed to a more pulsing tempo of the Sarabande. He could feel it in the very marrow of his bones and he led her round the floor. They did not speak but neither did they break eye contact. He felt like she was looking into his soul as they moved back and forward, the gentle touches of hands, shoulder, waist. Even in the expanse of ball gown she seemed heart renderingly fragile, yet this was belied by the look of steely strength in her tigerish eyes as she held his gaze. Gone was the coquettish debutante that had been introduced to Society, she was something else all together. As the music came to an end she curtsied low, but made sure he caught the tilt of head as she left the room, an invitation to follow.

He followed her at a discreet distance. Once away from the main house she turned down a corridor lit only my a candle in a sconce at each end. He could feel his heart pick up pace as she glanced back over her shoulder only once, the shadows dancing on her face making him at once both wildly excited and mildly afraid. This was after all a woman who had no problem with subduing both a six foot four scotsman and a coachman without firing a single shot. At the end of the corridor she opened a door and he could feel the cool air of the outdoors waft through the uncomfortably tight and warm corridor, she left the door open behind her as he followed her out into what appeared to be a small quadrangled garden. It was flanked on three sides by the expanse of the house and on the fourth a high wall. The size of the garden made him feel like the walls were closing in and for a moment he felt mildly panicked, reminded as he was by the cold stone of Fort William and his brief but eventful stay. He shifted from foot to foot contemplating bolting but at that moment she turned. She smiled at him and it was a smile of such sweetness that his misgivings about her evaporated. They were just two people standing in a garden smiling at each other in a vaguely ridiculous manner.

“Sorry about all the drama” She shrugged her shoulders. “La vie en parisenne seems to just invite a certain amount of exaggerated excess” She giggled slightly.

“Aye,” he responded “Ye certainly ken how to get attention”

She laughed again and took a step closer to him.   
“Well, my fine Scottish lad, I had to be sure I had your undivided focus. What with a certain Mme De Marillac vying for your affections” She raised her eyebrows at this and Jamie felt his colour heighten.

“Aye, well. She’ll no be having any more of my attentions. Even where it not rumoured that her father has finally agreed a match with the Duc d’Avignon, she’s naught to me.”

“Oh really? So the rumours of her being wooed by a dashing Scottish Laird in Waiting are untrue? Or is there another dashing Scot with whom I am yet to be acquaint?” 

He shifted uncomfortably and poked a toe in the grass. She laughed again and when he looked up she was stood so close to him he could feel the heat of her.   
“She’s naught to me” he said again, this time a little more breathlessly.  
“Good.” Was the response as she tilted her head, considering him.   
“You will pick me up tomorrow at noon and escort me to church, after which I will allow you to take afternoon tea with myself and my uncle directly after.”

And with that she was gone in a swish of skirts, pausing only to press something into his hand as she swept back through the door. Shaking his head as he tried to reckon with what just happened he looked down to see what she had left in his hand. It was a purse, his purse. The one that had been taken not even a week earlier. He smiled to himself. The prospect of Mass was suddenly much more exciting that the average Sunday.


	4. Chapter 4

Jamie rode home in a daze. Whatever he had hoped for from the evening had been surpassed and he found himself wishing the night away for it to be the next morning. He was startled from his revelry by a firm cuff to the back of his head. Jared stood there scrutinising Jamie.  
“What have you done, lad?” Ye’ve been away with the fairies since you danced with the Beauchamp lassie. Don’t tell me, you’ve fallen for her?” Jamie tried and failed to mask his thoughts from showing on his face but a loud scottish noise from his cousin suggested he had not been entirely successful. “Well lad, I’ll tell you one thing, she’s a better match for ye than yon Monsieur d’Marillac’s lassie. And less likely to land you in the Bastille for duelling”

‘But more likely to end up in the Bastille herself’ was Jamie’s response which he thankfully bit back before he said it out loud. Jared turned back to him handing him a glass of the good scottish whisky. “So lad, what to do? Will ye be trying to woo this lassie? More coaches and card games?” Jared gave a ghost of wink.

“She’s bid me accompany her to church tomorrow. And then to tea with her uncle” Jared let out a belly laugh.   
“Ah she’s a smart one. She kens that a trip to church in itself means nothing, yet at the same time allows the two of you to be around each other without tarnishing her good name. but it's also public enough that for all intents and purposes people will consider the two of you to be courting, but without either of you having to go through either me nor her uncle. I ken Claire better than you lad, she’s treated me a while now and whilst I would never demean her by calling her calculating she is certainly more single minded and determined than a good deal of the men that I know. For once laddie, you might have got your sights set on a lassie that’s as interested in you as you are in her.”

A thrill rushed through Jamie’s body at his cousin’s words. That this mysterious, compelling and clearly intelligent and articulate woman might actually return his affections. That she might actually want to be courted by him. It made no sense, this attraction, knowing what he knew about her extra curricular activities and he briefly wondered how much of the opulence witnessed last night was the product of her secret life and yet, he did not feel he could turn away from her. He didn’t want to. Jamie was self aware enough to know that whatever other parts of him she appealed to (and there were plenty, some more honourable than others) she also appealed to his reckless streak. The rash part of him that acted without thinking, that enjoyed the rush of danger. The side of him that had landed him briefly in Fort William and might well have found him in worse had his father not had better sense and a cooler head. Wherever this was taking him, he was happy to go there and well, if it turned out she was acting through coercion he would save her from that too. 

Another cuff round the head brought Jamie back into the moment. “Calm yerself, Jamie lad. Go to church with the lass, see how ye both like each other. Dinna be getting ahead of yerself.” Once again he cursed the fact that his usual ability to mask his thoughts seemed to have deserted him entirely and stood.   
“Well, I’d best away to my bed. It's sure to be a busy day tomorrow.” He left the room to the sound of Jared’s chuckle.

***  
Jared had been right. His accompanying of the Mme Beauchamp to Church did set tongues wagging across Paris. Mass was as much a social event as a spiritual one amongst Paris high society and as he had accompanied Claire down the aisle to a pew, the draught of a dozen fluttering fans which immediately went up to disguise the whispers of the young ladies was so vigorous it almost blew him down the aisle. Claire smirked beside and him and whispered from the side of her mouth “How long until the rumour starts that I am some kind of witch? Showing up, stealing their eligible bachelors” She laughed lightly and dug him gently in the ribs. He squeezed her arm lightly into his side. She was just so refreshing, unlike the other girls he had pursued, she seemed to have little interest in making him chase her. Instead he felt a companionship with her. That he did not need to try and prove himself of be something he wasn’t. Claire was so utterly self assured, so herself, that despite the butterflies in his stomach caused by pure delight at being so close to her, he felt more himself than he had been in a very long time. 

After their first public outing and a successful afternoon tea with Sir Quinten who had been charm itself, Jamie and Claire had settled into a routine. He would accompany her to church on Sunday and they would take afternoon tea with either her uncle or Jared. At the myriad of social occasion, beyond the needs of courtesy, they danced only with each other much to the chuntering disappointment of young men and women denied their company. There was a lightness of mood across Paris. The summer months were approaching and many a Paris socialite was looking forward to country retreats, parties at estates outside of Paris and of course, the event of the summer set to take place in July, the wedding of the Comtesse de Sevigne. One of the richest women in France who had long avoided matrimony in order to maintain control over her own estates and finances had finally been persuaded by the King (via writs that protected her assets) to marry the younger Marquis d’Angerville, a young man of excellent character, high humour and rumoured to be practically penniless. In addition, the threat of the now notorious gang of Highway bandits seemed to have ebbed away. There had been no more hold ups since the mass hit on the road from Paris to Fontainebleau and people’s thoughts had left them behind, the common consensus being that they had probably been caught for other lesser crimes and were likely now languishing behind bars in the Bastille. Jamie on the other hand, whilst he could not speak of the other members of the gang, knew for certain at least one member remained at large. At large and currently sipping champagne next to him, wearing a dress of deep indigo, her riotous curls barely contained by an ornate butterfly hair comb. 

“Oh wonderful, company” Claire’s words had an edge to them and he looked up to see Annalise sailing towards them. She wore a raspberry pink gown and large ostrich feather in her hair and quite unusually for her seemed to have eschewed her usual ostentatious jewellery for a lovely but modestly sized sapphire, set on a simple gold chain.

“Bonsoir Mon petit Sauvage” She laughed throatily and grasped Jamie’s arms firmly as she kissed him on both cheeks. “Bonsoir Mademoiselle” She nodded coolly at Claire, her curtsy little more than a bob.   
“Comment ca va?” was Claire’s equally cool response. “I understand congratulations are in order? That you will marry the duc d’Avignon in the autumn? Non?”   
Annalise, shrugged her shoulders, “oui” and then turned her attention back to Jamie. Jamie shifted uncomfortably particularly as she continued to conspicuously play with the jewel in her trinket, very obviously trying to draw attention to it. She began to speak in rapid French, regaling Jamie with all the gossip on their various acquaintances, clearly hoping the either Claire’s own French would not be good enough to keep up or that at the very least her newness to Paris society would exclude her. Eventually, Claire butted in.

“That really is an beautiful piece of jewellery, Annalise. A gift?” Annalise turned to Claire, a tight but satisfied smile on her face. 

“Oui, a gift. James is really a most romantic young man, non?” She met Claire’s eye boldly. “The gifts, the poems… I am sure you know what I am talking about” With an extravagant flourish of her fan and a deep curtsy at Jamie, she swept away in a flurry of velvet and silk.

Jamie wanted the ground to swallow him up. “I’m so sorry, Sassenach. She’s just stirring the pot, I don’t think she ever wore that once after I gave it to her til now. I dinna know what she’s trying to pull…” Jamie was gabbling now, slightly panicked. He raked his hand through his hair as he always did in times of stress causing a lunk to come loose of the neat ribbon that held it. He looked up to see Claire sporting a look of what could only be described poorly disguised mirth on her face.  
“Are you laughing at me?”  
“I most certainly am” Jamie felt the blood rise slightly in his cheeks but at the same time felt intense relief. In hindsight he was mightily embarrassed over his pursuit of Annalise, especially now he had met Claire, a girl truly deserving of jewels and poetry, precisely because she saw absolutely no need for them.   
“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time more quietly. Claire reached out and squeezed his hand gently.  
“Honestly, Jamie have no need to apologise for things that happened even before you met me. And it's not like your previous fondness for Mme d’Marrilac is a secret is it? It’s rumoured that the son of General Bissy still bares the scars” She laughed again. “Let’s hope you won’t be quite so silly over me”

There was an undercurrent to this statement, no matter how light heartedly stated, that made them both quiet for a moment and she looked him in the eye. Jamie understood the warning that was implicit. Claire was not all she seemed. And that could be dangerous. They gazed at each other for a long, long moment, seeking to know each other’s minds, to understand what could not be spoken aloud between them. Jamie could feel his heart hammering in his chest. Could feel the crest of the wave of the possibility of impending disaster. He should have turned away. He did not.

“Come, lets dance”   
Claire broke the moment. With a courtly bow he led his lady to the dance floor.  
************

It hadn’t rained for weeks. By the time that the end of July came, Paris was a restless city. People muttered and glanced at the sky hoping to see clouds. The air in the more crowded parts of city was static and cloying. Children were fretful and adults impatient as the promise of a storm hung in the atmosphere but never materialised. Those with the wealth and leisure to quit the city did so in droves. There were few events in society, the odd tea with the wives and daughters of merchants whose work kept them at close quarters, the occasional salon. On the last day of the month, those with status and privilege set out in coaches and by horse in dribs and drabs to the massive estate of the Comtesse De Sevigne. Jared had travelled ahead the day before, as an influential merchant and purveyor of the finest liquor in Paris he was on good terms with both the bride and groom and had therefore been invited to the ceremony that was held in the morning and to stay overnight. Jamie set out by horse, enjoying the breeze in his hair as he broke free of the city, he passed numerous coaches on his way. Claire would be travelling by coach with her uncle and he felt the butterflies in his stomach wake up and turn over at the thought of her. He had not been alone with her since that brief moment in the walled garden and he longed have a moment of privacy.

Jamie had written to his father several weeks early informing him of his courtship and seeking his permission to further it. Whilst he did not really feel that Brian Fraser would withhold his blessing (nor really even expect it to be asked for) given that he himself had escaped Castle Leoch in the dead of the night with the eldest sister of the Clan chief, Ellen MacKenzie and then eloped and spent several months hiding in a croft on the edge of the Fraser lands until Dougal and Colum had finally caught up with them. By this point Ellen was six months pregnant with Brian’s child and there was very little they could do about it. It was more that he wanted to talk about her. To commit her to paper, her wit, the luminance of her skin, the cadence of her laugh. He did not fear his father thinking overly romantic or smitten, indeed it had been Brian himself who had impressed upon him they joys of a love match and he knew that he would be pleased to think his son might have found one. 

Jamie arrived to find the party already in full swing, many had left Paris at first light or had come from their own country estates and the generously flowing champagne coupled with the delight at being out of the city meant that there was a frenetic buzz in their air. The relief of this and general air of having been released from captivity made the air hum. The estate was stunning but even carefully curated as it was, the arid weeks had taken their toll, the lake was low and the grass had a yellowish tinge, the air was dusty making throats scratchy and woman cough politely behind their fans. The heat was unrelenting and Jamie once again thanked the stars that since he had met Claire he had ceased to wear wigs. The red, damp looking faces of those that surrounded him pulled and collars and mopped brows.

He looked around for Claire, skirting the edge of the throng relying on his height to aid his search. He spotted Lamb, along with the Apothecary, Raymond in conversation with several court historians and knew Claire had to be nearby. His eyes continued to roam and he caught sight of Annalise, accompanied by her fiance and looking bored, her eyes casting around for amusement. Catching Jamie’s eye, she lowered her fan and he could see once again she was wearing the sapphire he had given her. Her companion, looking over to see what had caught her attention, glared at him. He silently cursed both himself for ever having given it to her, and Annalise for continuing to try and make a point with it. He doubted very much it would hurt things with Claire, she was far too self possessed for that, but he did worry that he would find himself drawing pistols with another on Annalise’s account despite the fact he had no interest in her. He glanced away continuing his search. He saw her then, she was stood close to the orchard with a group of other women he vaguely recognised. She wore a gown of deep blue and unusually for her a large hat on top of her curls. He stood back a moment and allowed himself the pleasure of simply looking at her. She was always beautiful, whether in her simple linen that she wore to grind herbs and mix tinctures or in her court finest, but there was something about her in this moment that stole his breath away. Maybe it was the way that amid the stillness and muted yellows and greys of the arid grass and overcast sky she seemed so vividly alive. The curl that had escaped from under her hat and rested gently on her neck, the soft curve of her bosom lush and creamy from the dark bodice of her dress, the delicate hourglass of her waist before it met the expanse of midnight blue skirt. His stomach flipped and he could feel himself stir under his plaid. The urge to whisk her away into the trees and take her and damn it all, almost frightening in its intensity. He had never known such want. She turned then as if drawn by the intensity of his feelings and the heat of his stare. Her eyes met his and for a moment he got the sense that if he were to pull her into the trees his advances would not be unwanted. 

The moment was broken by a delicate English woman who barely reached Claire’s shoulders, turning to see who had distracted Claire’s attention.

“Oh Mr Fraser, do come and join us” Mary Hawkins, Jamie identified, she was here visiting with family with a view to possibly being married off to some wealthy noble. She was quiet and timid but a breath of fresh air compared to the ever competing ladies of the French court and he found himself coming back to himself and smiling down at her.   
“Ladies” he gave a courtly bow, which made Mary go bright red and set the fans of the other ladies fluttering slightly. He stood close to Claire and could feel the warmth of her. She drew his hand to her twining their fingers, concealed amongst the mass of her skirt. She tickled his palm with her finger and despite the warmth of the day and his many layers of clothes, he felt the hairs rise on his arms and neck at the intimacy of her touch. He had touched her before of course, but something about this was different, more charged. Maybe it was the idea of the relative freedom and privacy of the estate rather than the narrow Paris Streets or the overwarm dimness of the Paris dining rooms, the smell of wax and smoke thick in the unmoving air. Maybe it was simply the recognition that their relationship was just that. That they were moving towards something and that it would be transformative. 

The afternoon passed quickly. There was dancing and jests, there were games and competitions. Dinner was lavish, served under the setting sun, surrounded by a thousand lamps. Having left their table, they stood close together at the edge of the garden. They were close enough to the tree line to be largely obscured in shadow but not so close to it as to encourage gossip were they seen. They stood watching the revels around them. A prominent judge from Orleans had recently staggered past them and could be heard vomiting loudly from somewhere in the trees. Henriette, the daughter of one of the King’s ministers could be seen crying surrounded by a group of wildly outraged ladies. From the conversation that floated over it appeared that the man Henriette hoped might be about to announce his intentions towards her had turned up late to the wedding and was accompanied by a very pretty and reportedly very rich bride from the Palatine of the Rhine. Her german fashions were currently under attack, but none of this seemed to be of any real comfort to the poor crying girl.

Jamie put his arm around Claire’s shoulders and she moved close to him, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing. Feeling brave, Jamie turned her slightly to face him. He reached a hand and cupped her cheek. He could hear his own heart pounding as they looked at each other.   
“Claire, Sassenach….” What he was about to say was suddenly rudely interrupted by the shriek of a firework made them both jump out of their skins. Claire laughed and stood on tip toes and gently placed a kiss on the tip of his nose.  
“Hold that thought my lad, I really must go and powder my nose”

He watched her as she made her way the specially built structure which the Comtesse had had built for the occasion, the fireworks which continued to sail through the sky, lighting her way. When she was out of sight he turned his attentions back the throng. The centre table, at least 50 feet long and containing all of the Bride and Groom’s closest and most influential friends. Both Jared and Claire’s uncle had been granted the honour of a seat here. As the last firework died away, people returned to their chatter. Even Jamie himself had to admit that this was one of the more enjoyable and less stuffy events he had attended in his years in Paris. Smiling slightly, had to admit the extravagantly dressed French aristocracy made a bonnie sight, even wilting in the heat as they were. Clouds were starting to gather in the sky now, blocking the moon and Jamie absently wondered if he would make it back to Paris before the storm broke. Suddenly a shadow moving in the trees behind him caught his attention. He whirled to face it, only to have the woods return to their normal peaceful state. Probably just a breeze, or the drunk judge. Jamie smiled to himself and vaguely wondered if he should send someone to check that he wasn’t asleep under a tree.

Jamie was pulled out of his revery by an almighty bang. His first reaction was to look to the sky for more fireworks, but it was only when it was accompanied not by the oohs and ahhs of wonder but shrieks of terror he returned to survey the scene unfolding before him.

At least a dozen masked figures surrounded the party, each holding a horse pistol in each hand. From the one nearest to him, he could see they also had additional weapons in their belts. There was the tinkling of broken glass and the smash of broken crockery as one of the figures, strode along the main table as another moved behind and placed a pistol to the head of bride.   
“Stand and Deliver” cried the figure stood atop the table. “Place your purses and valuables in the bags and not only will no one get hurt but you will all have *such* an exciting story to tell all your friends at tomorrow’s salons” The other figures moved across the crowd as purses dropped into their bags. 

Jamie dare not move, though he glanced around hoping against hope he might see Claire coming towards him through the crowd but knowing this would not be the case. Although the figure now stood at the centre of the main table was the picture of androgyny, Jamie knew better, the slight curve of hip underneath shapeless clothes, the tilt of chin. He knew them. 

When the gang’s bags were full they began to retreat back towards the exits, pistols trained at the crowd, the figure on the table, gave a laugh and gave a lavish bow to those assembled silent and shocked. As they made their way down the table the paused by the figure of Annalise, sitting between her father and her husband to be. In gesture that was both casual and deliberate the figure reach down briefly and then stood again before jumping casually from the end of the table and sauntering out through the gate with a jaunty wave of pistol as an act of dismissal. Jamie hasn’t been close enough to see what had been taken from Annalise but was almost certain in that moment that she would not be wearing a certain sapphire again. 

As the last of the gang exited there was a moment of perfect and absolute silence. The air hung thick and heavy and Jamie got the sense that no one dare breathe. And then it erupted. Whilst there was some genuine distress, from those assembled, on the whole Jamie felt that there was an air of almost perverse excitement. The Comtesse herself was flushed and looked more animated and lively than he thought he had ever seen her. Glancing around one more time for Claire, he turned his attention back to the main table. Uncle Lamb still sat in his seat, speaking animatedly with his neighbour, Jared was on his feet scanning the crowd. Jamie set out towards him, striding with purpose through a crowd that seemed to have little idea what to do or how to react to the events of the very recent past. Jamie met Jared six feet from the main table. “Are you well, cousin?”   
“Aye, lad” was the reply “I was passed right over, they clearly had targets in mind, whilst its seems they took from many, they seemed to hone right in on some, whilst not giving others a second look” They were joined by Lamb, looking flushed and panicked. “Where is Claire? Is she not with you James?”  
Jamie opened his mouth to speak and at just that moment, Claire burst through the crowd towards them looking harried. Her hair had tumbled down from its pins and she was holding her hat in her hand. One side of her dress was smeared with mud and she had dirt on her face.  
“My dear, whatever happened to you?” Lamb held his niece into the light of a nearby lamp expecting her for hurt. “Are you hurt?”

“No not hurt” Claire gasped seemingly out of breathe” I was coming down from the powder rooms when I heard an explosion and then a group of people rushed past me and knocked me to the ground. One of them told me if I had any sense I’d stay where I was. So I did”

Jamie’s eyes caught Claire’s and for the merest hint of a moment the shock cleared from them and she looked at him almost challengingly. Then she turned back to her uncle. “I am unhurt. Though I think this dress may need mending. What about you uncle? Was anything taken from you?”   
“Only my purse, and thankfully it contained only my pin money for tonight’s gaming tables, which I expect will not be an issue now”

He turned to Jamie. “James, I beg you, take Claire home. Take my coach and have it come back for me once you see her safe. I will have my man ensure your horse is returned to Jared’s house and stabled.”  
Lamb nudged Claire forward towards Jamie and he took her arm and nodded to Lamb. Of course, Sir. I will see her safe to her door.”  
“I’ll be stayin’ too, there is sure to be much discussion over what’s to do here. As much as no one was hurt and it seems none lost more than could be afforded, the fact the gang was bold enough to attack an occasion such as this will have ramifications.” Jared, put his arm on Jamie’s shoulder. “See your lass safe home, laddie and be safe yourself.” Claire curtsied slightly to both her Uncle and Jared and she and Jamie turned and headed for where the coaches were being loaded up and people headed back to the city which suddenly seemed much safer than before. 

They rode for some time in silence. Jamie simply had no idea what to say. Claire sat beside him, her hat on the seat opposite her head leaning against the window. They were quiet so long he wondered whether she was asleep, when suddenly it was she who broke the silence. 

“Have I told you about what happened to me when my parents died, Jamie?”  
Jamie sat up straighter, “No mo Cridhe, I dinna think you’ve ever talked about it with me, beyond that you were verra young when you lost them” The sadness in her voice made him tender. He had been able to feel the anger and frustration bubbling under his surface, at being confronted head on with what she was and not truly knowing how to deal with it, but her voice sounded so small, so sad, that all he could think about was how much he could not bear to hear her in pain . 

“I know that you’re mad with me Jamie, I know you probably, in fact couldn’t possibly understand my life, my choices, but I need you to try, to hear my story. I was five when my parents died. We were living in London at the time and as always Lamb, was away. I don’t know where, I was too young to comprehend. It happened very suddenly, their coach overturned and tipped into the river, they didn’t make it out. With them gone and no other family but Lamb I was fostered out to a family friend, things were fine for a while, but when it seemed the care of me would not translate into the release of my parents assets to them, they were no longer interested. I was put out on the streets of London at five years old. Lamb was tracked down sometime later and returned to London but it took him another three months to find me. I was living with a gang of other children. The eldest about nine. I was half starved, half frozen, covered in lice and sores. I’d survived the first weeks purely from the pity of passers by, I probably would have died sooner than later wandering the streets of London had the other children not found me. We survived begging, a little stealing. It was terrifying and dangerous. The nights I lay under that bridge with only the bodies of other half starved children to keep me warm and wished I was dead. Or dreamed I would be rescued. That my parents would appear and take me home. I was five, I didn’t understand the permanence of death.”  
Her voice shook slightly and Jamie reached for her and took her hand, she didn’t seem to notice.   
“But they didn’t come, no one did. Rich people would step over us in the street, sneer at us, hit us with umbrellas and walking sticks. My friend Jane, died metres away from some of the grandest homes in the whole of England. We lost four of our group before Uncle Lamb found us and those of us that remained probably would not have lived so see another Spring.” She exhaled strongly through her nose as if gathering her thoughts. “Lamb found me shortly after Christmas. At that point I had been on the streets for almost a year. He took me the rest of my group back home with him. I refused to leave without them. There were six of us. And Lamb took us all. He spent about three months with us all under his roof trying to teach us how to live, not just survive. Old habits die hard and children that had lived on the streets since they were old enough to walk, have very few social niceties. When we were all more or less healthy, he had the others fostered out. Only to trusted friends and he was sure to keep in touch, he knew the fate that had befallen me. And we all survived and thrived. But I will never ever forgive those people with wealth and plenty who will step over a starving child on their way to eat themselves sick. I will never look at a man, in a powdered wig and a paunch from too much port and venison and feel anything other than revulsion.”   
With that she knocked on the coach roof and the footman leaned down. She issued some instructions and as we entered Paris he turned away from the road which led towards Claire’s home and down towards the banks of the Seine.   
“You must excuse me Jamie, I have work to do before I retire” As the coach slowed to a stop she leapt out, not waiting for the footman. Jamie followed her out, as she walked around the coach and removed a box from the back. Opening the box, she lifted out a bag, which Jamie immediately recognised from the heist at the wedding. “Hold out your hand” Jamie held out his hand and Claire placed something in it before closing his fingers around it. He didn’t need to look to know it was a modest sapphire on a slender gold chain. She smiled at him, tight but genuine before turning into the darkness down towards the bridge.


	5. Chapter 5

Jamie lay on the bed fully clothed. The heavy curtains were closed but he could sense with the acuity of one who had farmed and seen many a dawn that the sun almost fully up. It was July and the days were long. He had gotten home only a handful of hours ago, but sleep had not found him. With the exception of his coat, stock and boots, he had not undressed. His mind troubled.

He had followed Claire down to the banks of the river. Under the bridge there were a group of children, the oldest, from what he could tell no more than 11. He had watched from a distance as Claire had doled out money, examined hurts and generally brought comfort to those who had seen precious little of it in their life. Jamie had seen these children any number of times, those and others like them. He occasionally flipped them a coin, paid them some pennies to watch his horse, but had never really given much thought to their plight. Claire’s story had changed all that. His heart was sick at what she had gone through, at what so many children went through every day. He was also deeply troubled by the night’s events. The gang had considerably upped the ante by raiding the wedding. No longer would they be considered merely highwaymen, a nuisance to be dealt with. They would be public enemies number one. He dreaded to think the size of the bounty on their heads. The King’s own sister had been present at the wedding. Such brazen disregard for authority would not be lightly answered. If Claire were discovered she would be hanged. Or worse. As a woman, he knew, she would likely face a barrage of other charges related to the actions being so unbecoming of her sex. Jamie felt his stomach curl and what they might do to her. And that was assuming she met the King’s justice. Which she might not. And the mob would be less kind still.

He sat up. He ran his hands through his hair and attempted to steady his breathing but he could feel his panic rising. He tried to tell himself that Claire, as a lady in society, would likely never be suspected unless caught red handed. Or betrayed. His blood ran cold. He knew her reasons for this double life to be noble, but what of the others in her gang. If they were caught would they betray the rest? Was there truly no honour amongst thieves? He paced the room, trying and failing to come to some kind of inner resolution. What did last night mean for his courtship of Claire? Of his feelings for her there could be no doubt, but did he really have any future with her? Would she give this up for him? He had more questions than he had answers. His pacing was interrupted by a gentle knock at the door and an unobtrusive footman. There was a young messenger from the Lady Claire. Jamie took the stairs two at a time and reached the hall to find a boy of about eleven examining a pair of silver candlesticks in a way that Jamie did not entirely put down to aesthetic appreciation.

“What can I do for you, lad?” The boy jumped and replaced the candlesticks. He turned to Jamie and gave a flourishing bow, and smile displaying unusually good teeth for one so unruly looking. 

“Milord, I have brought a message from Milady, Claire. She would have you know that she will attend church today as she always does and she bids you accompany her as her Uncle has not yet returned from the countryside.”

“What’s yer name lad?” Jamie asked the boy, raking his hand over his stubble as he tried to puzzle out why he had been sent. 

“I am Claudel, milord.”  
“Claudel? Well, that’s no a verra manly name, How about, Fergus? Tis much finer?”

The boy considered this for a minute before fixing Jamie with another radiant smile.  
“Oui, milord. That is a good strong name.”

“Well, then Fergus, my lad, return to your mistress and tell her I will accompany her to church. We have some things to be saying to each other and its maybe no harm in both of us getting absolution from the Lord before that happens”

Fergus, as he was now known, bowed wildly once again before scampering out of the front door, and out into the street. It was only later that Jamie realised that the candlesticks were missing. 

 

He had met her in the hallway of her Uncle’s house and they had walked to the church in silence. Unusually for them it was not a comfortable one and Jamie took a moment to acknowledge that as afraid as he was for her and what could happen to her if she was discovered, but also that he was angry with her. She was not only putting herself in danger with her actions, but others, her uncle, him, his family. The service passed without event, everyone agog with the gossip of the previous night, Jamie and Claire’s courtship of little interest in comparison. 

At the end of the service he hurried them away, unwillingly to get embroiled in conversations. Those who had not been there were desperate for detail, but Jamie’s long pace coupled with his grim face meant that few attempted to way lay them as they left.

As they arrived at Claire’s door, he addressed her for the first time since he had arrived earlier. 

“MIstress, would it be at all possible for me to come in for a moment? I ken your uncle is no’ here and it’s no’ really proper but I also think we maybe need to say a few things whilst we have privacy to say them”

Claire nodded her aquesience and led the was through the house into her parlour. Jamie had only ever been in the dining room, ballroom and her uncle’s saloon and was a little taken aback at being led into her innermost sanctum. A lady’s parlour was usually only for herself and her female friends. Removing her hat and handing it to her lady’s maid, she dismissed her. As the door clicked closed they both listened to the sound of the maid’s footsteps travelling down the hallway. 

“Would you like some tea? Or Whiskey?” Claire enquired.

“No, I dinna want whiskey!” Jamie’s voice was a roar which took them both my surprise. Claire however, composed herself first and she looked at him contemplatively. 

“Claire…” Jamie tried to reign himself in, his temper he knew coming from fear. “Claire, last night, what the hell? I ken why yer doing it Claire? But Christ woman, do ye want to be hanged?”  
“You knew who I was when this started, Jamie and you courted me still.”

Jamie exhaled strongly through his nose. “Aye, I did, but I dinna really think it through, I dinna really consider the implications. Until last night, Jesus Claire, ye held up the society wedding of the year, ye robbed the King’s own sister. Everyone and their uncle is talkin’ about it and looking for ya” His accent was throwing thicker in his distress. “God, woman will ye no say something? Have ye any idea where this could end? If they City guard catches ye, it will be the Bastille and the rope for ye, and that’s if yer lucky. And if the mob catch ye, and with the price that is bound to be on all your heads now, there will be plenty who will be looking, look at ye, at gentlewoman. A maid, yet. What do you think a Paris mob will do to you before they turn you over for their reward? You’ll be begging for the rope by the end of it.”

His head flew back as she struck him hard across the cheek and in his temper he fought the urge to shake her. Wheeling about he landed an ornamental side table a powerful blow sending it crashing into the wall.   
Taking a deep breath her whirled back to face her, his fists clenched as he fought to bring his temper under control.   
He turned to find her face flushed with fury her own fists tightly balled at her sides as she advanced on him.

“What? Do you think that just because I’ve let you accompany me to church a few times you can tell me what to do? That I should suddenly change and accept the inequities of the world? All those rich pigs…” She spat the word at him “parading around in their wealth whilst others starve? Do you think that because I have danced a few dances with you that should just forget all that and live a happily ever after? Is that what you expect?” She struck him in the chest with both hands making him stagger back slightly

“No, no I don’t” He yelled back moving round the room and out of arms reach. “But I also dinna want to see the woman I love, the woman I want to marry and have bairns with hunted down by a mob, beaten and raped in the streets and then strung up”  
Claire ceased her advance upon him at his words, simply looking at him, breathing heavily.  
“Jesus God.” His voice was quieter now, barely above a whisper. “Ye’re tearing my guts out Claire”

“Jamie” She got no further as they both crashed into each other. His arms went around her waist as hers tangled in his hair. Their tongues danced and it made Jamie feel slightly lightheaded. He moved one hand up her back, into her curls, the other on the small of her back pulling her closer to him. Her hands roamed everywhere and Jamie fought to catch his breath. Moving away from her mouth his lips travelled down her jaw, to the soft skin of her neck and he felt her shudder underneath him, pulling him closer to him. She maneuvered them backward until she hit the wall behind them. She ran her fingers across his jaw and down, never breaking the connection as she unknotted his stock exposing his throat. His breath caught as her lips settled in the base of his throat, just below his adam’s apple and he moved his fingers from her hair across the pale expanse of her chest, skimming her breasts where they peeked from the bodice of her gown.   
“Jamie” he could feel her breath on his damp skin as she half moaned his name and it travelled straight from his neck to the bulge in his breeks. Unable to stop himself he thrust his hips against her and could feel her doing likewise as they kissed and pushed their bodies together. He heard her swear a little under her breath as the expanse of her skirt prevented her from finding the friction she needed. In chorus, they both reached down and gathered up handfuls of satin, until only her last layer of underskirt and shift lay between them. She ground against Jamie, making little mewling noises and it was all Jamie could do not to lift those last few layers of skirt and take her against the wall of the parlour. He hands touched him now through the material of his breeks which seemed both tantalisingly thin and torturously thick all at the same time. He moaned as he pushed himself into her hand and in his turn he brought his hand between her legs, stroking her over the material of petticoat and shift. He felt her hand touch the flesh of his stomach as she sought to free his shirt from his breeches and his cock twitched and the feel of her fingers on his skin. She moved her hand down and undid the top button of his breeks.

“Lass” He gasped into her ear, his hand gently covering her wrist and halting her movements “We canna, I canna. Not like this, not now….” He gasped the end of the sentence as he desperately fought to regain control of his mind and body. He put his forehead to hers, so they met flush along their bodies. He could feel the hammering of her heart against his and he kissed her gently and chastely. “Mo Nighean Donne, what are we going to do with you? With us?” It was a rhetorical question and one to which he did not really expect an answer, so he startled slightly when she spoke.

“I don’t know Jamie, I simply don’t know what to do. I know I can’t keep doing this. Eventually I’ll be caught and like you say, if I am hanged alone, I will be able to count myself lucky, but how can I stop? How can I turn my back on those children who were like me, but are never going to have an Uncle Lamb to save them from it? How can I let those awful people with no souls or conscience go about their business of being disgustingly rich and hideously hollow without answer?” She was looking at him beseechingly as though he really might be able to answer her questions and he knew in that moment he would do all he could to find a way that she could quiet those demons.

“I don’t know, mo gradh, but we’ll find a way together, aye?


End file.
